Touch
by Angeladex
Summary: Rough beginnings, when your Partner becomes your roommate, and you don't want to do his Laundry. Maka/Soul, beginning of their friendship/partnership, and learning how to navigate roommate problems weighed against Partner problems. Touch-averse Soul has a hard time matching wavelengths, and Maka kind of has to deal. In which much bickering ensues. Hard to summarize, lol. Review!


It never entered her mind that it would be weird until he _made_ it weird. That was partially due to the fact, to be fair, that she had grown up the daughter of a Meister/Weapon and known her whole life about the strange "Weapon gene" that cropped up. She had never had a chance to know otherwise, and so this admittedly strange reality of life was commonplace to her.

Not so with Soul Evans.

She had paired with him easily enough. He was a scythe, which was exactly what she was looking for. He had drive. He had the ambition and goals that aligned with her own.

He just wasn't so good at the "being a weapon" part.

They had started classes, observed demonstrations, and practiced together…and he'd had the hardest time transforming himself; his _whole_ self, not just a random arm or leg spouting a wicked blade of a sudden. She had her own problems, in Meister classes, learning how to see souls, to tell the difference between those of mortals, witches, and kishin eggs.

And then, once the actual thing was happening, and he had managed to (finally!) transform, she went casually to pick him (it?) up, only to have him hurriedly shift back, pink in the face, and leave her gripping his hand. And he pulled that away quickly.

He was touch-averse. How quaint. A boy with this amazing gift: The Demon Weapon Gene—first in his family to ever exhibit it, too, from what he'd said; they were all musicians, and not at all aware that it could be a thing, until Soul had accidentally destroyed their grand piano – and he couldn't utilize it. Not really. Because what good was it to have the ability to turn into a weapon if you couldn't be used as one?

Maka frowned at the thought. That wasn't fair. There were plenty of students at the academy who exhibited the gene and chose not to fight; their classes tooled more toward controlling it and possibly using it defensively, or those whose weapon forms were rarer, or harder to fight with.

In line with chastising herself for leaping so quickly to that place of judgement, she polled her friends who were weapons. Asked them what it was _like_. These were questions she'd never asked her father, being that she had decided never to speak to him again when she turned ten, and been forced to renege on her vow when Mama had left the country.

She learned that it was…weird. And, at their behest, she tried, for a while, to just try to picture it; How would it be if their roles reversed. If _she_ were the weapon, and Soul had to…to _handle_ her.

It felt more vulnerable in weapon form, Maka was told; often they felt naked and exposed. And then they had to focus on _remaining_ a weapon, focus on trying to resonate soul wavelengths, perform well in a fight…all while feeling that weak, helpless feeling, and forcing themselves not to think about it, because as a weapon, if you _felt_ weak, it reflected in your performance, and as a weapon, you _were_ weaker, and harder to manage.

In the classes they shared as partners—these classes would eventually be geared toward fighting techniques and advanced practices like group resonance or special moves specific to certain types of weapons, but for now focused on teambuilding exercises and non-judgmental practice space—they talked a lot about the virtues of overcoming difficulties and awkwardness by get-to-know-you exercises, and questions based less around academics than around building relationships.

Cohabitation was encouraged for partners, and housing was offered on campus to support this; Lord Death allowed students a stipend for groceries and living expenses until graduation.

It wasn't for everyone, Maka knew. A girl in her year, Tsubaki, was hesitant to leave the girls-only dormitories if the alternative was living with her partner; a brash Meister named Black*Star.

In having the difficult conversation, however, Soul was firmly in favor of it, to her surprise.

"We're good partners, right? And this will make us even better. I say we go for it."

The more time they spent in one another's presence, the faster they'd feel more comfortable being partners. The more comfortable they were in their partnership, the faster they'd make significant progress. It made sense.

So they found a place to stay, and spent a break in school moving in. It was something small to bond over: neither of them had anywhere to go for the break. He wasn't on good terms with his family, and she couldn't visit her mother wherever she was travelling. She never sought out her father to spend time with him during school vacations, and he took her avoidance of him for what it was –her avoiding him— and cured his sorrows with some skirt or other. It was a comfortable arrangement.

And she and Soul buckled down in bonding time. They talked. They bickered. They ate. They slept. They bickered. They cooked. They cleaned. They bickered. And soon enough, they started to see the "real" sides of each other.

Soul was a hopeless slob. When it leaked out of his room and into common areas, she was persistent about reminding him to clean up after himself. Which he said was her nagging him.

He had…interesting taste in music, but she'd known that, already. It's how they'd decided to be partners. He liked a mixture of jazz and contemporary that sounded cacophonous and at times downright noisy, and she gifted him a pair of headphones, hoping it wasn't too passive-aggressive, when the jumble of discordant sounds emanating from his speakers kept her from studying. He gifted her a pair of earplugs, which she grudgingly used.

And their classes continued, and Maka learned the different ways to discern souls, and Soul groaned about having to get up early and she didn't actually ever see him do homework, though he never asked her to help him, or copy off of her or anything, and she wasn't sure whether it was something worth breaching as roommates, or if that would be too "motherly." She wouldn't mother him. She wasn't there to be his mother and tell him what to do.

But they did sometimes bicker about it. They bickered a lot.

And Soul complained about wearing the uniform, and conveniently lost it halfway through the week, and Maka wasn't sure he'd remember to do his laundry unless she mentioned to him that she was visiting the laundromat, and they bickered because no, she wouldn't do his laundry for him, she wasn't going to touch his dirty underwear, that was definitely not something roommates would do, that fell under the "motherly" category.

And she did start to notice when he…he touched her more. Not…not in a weird way. Or even a hitting-on-her way, or a creeper way, like the vibe she got from her dad sometimes. Just…it was hard to describe. He went from going out of his way to avoid touching to…not. They'd brush shoulders passing in the hall, or he'd brush her knees walking past her on the couch, or once when she was carrying a pot of noodles to the table and stumbled, and he actually took her shoulders and steadied her. Things like that.

She wasn't sure whether to bring that up, either. That wasn't a roommate concern, but it certainly wasn't a motherly concern. Or was it? It was…it was a Meister/Weapon concern. So she brought it up to him at school, where the setting was appropriate.

"D'you…d'you think we're ready to…to try again? Y'know. Fighting…together? I…I noticed you've been…you've been less…standoffish. About physical touch. And…and it might have helped," she said carefully, not looking at him. Looking at her notes. Writing things down. No big deal. Casual.

"Yeah, sure. Let's go for it. I mean, if we nailed it, we'd be much cooler," he responded lazily. No big deal. Casual.

They found an empty practice room, no overseeing teachers this time, and it was…it was a little awkward.

"When…whenever you're ready," Maka said softly after a silence, not sure what to do while she waited for him to transform.

"Just…give me a minute," he murmured, turning his back to her, and breathing deeply.

He transformed. He was almost as tall as she was, in weapon form, and his blade had a pattern on it that looked like so many teeth. _Like_ his _teeth_. She smiled.

"You ready?" she asked, pulling her gloves tighter.

 _/Yeah/_ returned Soul's voice, emanating from the weapon eerily, disembodied and mouthless.

She picked him up. Him. Not it. This was Soul. It had his familiar wavelength, and it had his voice. It had his teeth.

It was…strange. She was very aware of Soul's presence, in her hands, but the weight was…perfect. The balance was good, and she tested different places to grip the shaft of the Scythe, settling on a stance and balance that was centering.

 _/Meisters and Weapons are supposed to be able to fight together with their Souls. Once we get better, you might not even have to grip me so hard. I heard of a Meister who handled his weapon with a pinky, and it still worked./_

Maka reddened, slacking her grip slightly.

 _/Take a swing! But don't drop me. It might…it might feel weird./_

Maka let out a laugh, and heard Soul's eerie voice laughing, too.

"I was afraid you'd be too heavy, or transform back again," she said truthfully, trying to get in a comfortable rhythm, swinging Soul's blade. Trying to find what was comfortable. She'd practiced with Scythes, of course. She'd known she wanted to be the Meister of a Scythe-type Weapon, like her Mama. She knew the basics of how to use a Scythe, in harvesting, at least. It was different, to use it like a weapon. A Weapon.

 _/Soul Compatibility determines that. Guess our arguing so much helped, huh?/_

They practiced together. Soul maintained shape even when she threw him into the air, and he never got heavy or hot, and he never abruptly transformed back. She decided on some strength exercises she could do, now that she knew the weight to expect, and they made plans to practice her running with him, and the logistics of how to train together carefully without anyone getting hurt.

 _/We could make a safe word. To shout out, when we know the throw is timed bad, or something. Are you okay wearing the gloves?/_

"No problem. But we might have to practice without gloves, and in different temperatures…I don't have to grip you tightly now, but in the field, if I ever…I dunno. If I needed more strength to my grip, I want to have it already. I can maybe take up tennis? Get my hands callused so I don't get blisters?"

 _/I'm thinner than a tennis racket./_

"That's true. Badminton maybe?"

"There's no strength in badminton. Just practice with me. I don't care if you get blisters."

"You say that now, but—oh." Maka started. She hadn't noticed his transition from Weapon to boy, and she was holding his hand again.

Soul grinned in his shark-like way, changing grip on her hand and bringing their arms up closer to their faces. Like they'd made a pact, and were sealing it, palm to palm. "Meister Maka? You're the coolest partner ever. We're gonna be such a good team."

Maka beamed at the compliment. "Yeah. We'll be the best in the school, and then I'll make you a Death Scythe. I promise."

"Deal," Soul agreed, and pulled her closer, embracing her with his other arm, their hands still clasped between them.

Maka was sweaty and her hands ached a little, and a weird smell lingered on them: Metal…but a strangely…Soul-scented metal. They eventually made their way back to classes, and until they actually reached a hallway where people were, Soul didn't let go of their clasped hands once.

AUTHORS NOTE

Happy January! I don't mean these long bouts of non-writing, and I don't consider my account dead or abandoned, but I do apologize for my intermittent...hiatus periods.

I wanted to write something from Maka's POV since I did Soul's already. And this idea finally let me finish. :) Reviews appreciated!


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